When I'm Down
by Zeki Young
Summary: PostEp for Left for Dead. Kate POV. Thoughts through the final scene and on Gibbs' reaction. Vague Kibbs in that it's Kate & Gibbs centric.


**Title: When I'm Down**

**Author's note**: My second NCIS fic. This is dedicated to Mindy (I hope you don't mind!) While it's not a shade on the masterpieces she writes, it's a small token of thanks for all the wonderful KIBBS she's written and shared. Thanks. Zk.

Inspired by the song by Chris Cornell, "_When I'm Down_". All lyrics are copyrighted to him as far as I know. The NCIS characters/situations aren't mine, I'm just borrowing for a bit of fun.

**Rating**: T

**Spoilers**: Left For Dead.

* * *

_"When I'm Down" - Chris Cornell_

What say you know, the door is opening,  
On your vigil, and I'm in my usual way,  
I save my breath, knowing what you're wanting me to say,  
I only love you when I'm down.

You say that midnight opens it's arms to me,  
Leaving you alone, and then I fly so far away,  
Until the light blurs my vision and I have nowhere to roam,  
I only love you when I'm down.

And I only love you when I'm down,  
And I'm only near you when I'm gone,  
But one thing for you to keep in mind you know,  
I'm down all the time.

Well I know you're reaching out and you need to feel my hand,  
You want to be understood, yeah well I understand,  
I know you hold precious little hope for me,  
And in your happiness, I'm always drowning in my grief.

* * *

I want to apologise. Desperately. I want to go and say I'm sorry. Sorry for letting the team down, but moreover, sorry for risking more than my own life.

I can't blink for looking at him and the smoke in the air stings my eyes. As if hypnotised, I trace back and forth the sporadic movement of the seemingly soft strands of his silver hair in the gusty wind.

It's avoidance and it's cowardice. I'm terrified of meeting his eyes.

I know full well what I'll see, and I'm not sure I have the strength to bear the honesty of his disappointment. The yellow flash of a passing fireman's jacket breaks my trance-like concentration and I fail to put off the inevitable any longer. My gaze meets his and he doesn't let go.

With a shuddery intake of breath, I feel the searing heat of shame rise within me; tears threaten to swell and blind me. For a moment my bottom lip shakes before I get a hold of my feelings: regret, grief, fear – all of them cut deeper than the shrapnel sent flying by Suzanne's bomb; they all break more in me than the force of a blast ever could.

His eyes are hard, and in a move completely alien to me in our year-long acquaintance, they don't seem to hide what he's thinking. The disappointment is written all over his face, it's evident in the slump of his shoulders and the way his hands are tightly balled into fists. And it hurts. There's a sickening twist in my gut and it's accompanied by the feeling of a million little sharp pinches in my throat that make me shudder harshly as I breathe.

I begin to notice that it's cold as I silently mourn the loss of the one thing I'd been working so hard to nurture into a reality: the respect of my boss. I shiver for a moment and subconsciously pull the blanket closer around me.

Then all of a sudden, like strings being cut on a puppet, I feel the weight of his judgement leave me. Gibbs relinquishes his admonishing stare and I gasp imperceptibly.

Shoving his grazed hands deeper into his trouser pockets, he looks to the sky and I notice his lips part and his shoulders rise before falling dramatically in a heavy sigh. I watch him for another moment before my eyes finally flood and his figure becomes a distant blur.

The senior EMT comes over to relieve his junior. He cheerfully introduces himself as "Woody" and says something that I don't quite catch above the vague ringing in my ears. I frantically blink away my tears and watch his lips in order to discern his words. For a moment I attend to Woody's question with a series of painful nods of my head; my neck is tender and stiff from the explosion.

In that brief moment, I catch Gibbs' shadow in my periphery: he starts to walk away. I find my eyes drawn quickly to his receding figure. He's letting the wind sweep around him without pulling his jacket closed. I know he feels the cold more than he likes to let on. He is never without a white undershirt and come winter he's always a little grumpier and holds his coffee cup closer to his chest. Abby says it's because his old wounds ache and in the cold his knee plays up. With a heavy heart, I see now that he limps slightly. I sadly concede that even in Gibbs, sometimes so great is his frustration at all and himself, that he fails as a mortal should, to hide his languor. All of a sudden I'm overcome by an incredible impulse to call out to him, just to do something to break his distraction.

My urge is all-too-quickly rendered superfluous: Tony stops him with a cautious hand. They exchange a few words and from my partner's bowed head, I guess they're about me. Gibbs tilts his head to the side like he does when he's imparting some tit-bit of wisdom. He speaks with a small nod to punctuate what must have been a question before DiNozzo says something that causes him to grin fleetingly before replying. Tony shakes his head in reaction to our boss' words. He lingers for a moment, wringing his hands, then turns in the direction of the pool sedan.

I swallow painfully and wonder what has been said. Gibbs slowly shifts round to look at me once again. This time I can't see his eyes, he's turned so his face is in shadow, but I can feel his gaze all the same. He stands up straighter and bows his head slowly and with one last thoughtful glance sets off after Tony.

All of a sudden, I feel very alone. Woody says he's almost finished with me and tugs the blanket over my freshly bandaged arm. He shines a small torch in my eyes again while saying something about my not being able to drive for the next two days and I soberly think about my car and my apartment. My car and my apartment, they are on a thought trail that leads me to the personal betrayal which landed me here in the first place. I feel a torrent of anger and hatred surge through me before I hear Woody softly ask me if there was anyone he could call to take me home. His gentle words ground me and I think of calling Ducky, Abby, or any one of my girl friends... or indeed my man of the moment, Greg. But I'm not sure I could face any of them now. Abby least of all; I know how deeply she cares about the team and I'm scared I'd break down completely if I were to see the now familiar disappointment in her eyes too.

Woody shifts uneasily at my silence, his sympathy is palpable and I wonder how someone as young as him can do this full-time and still appear so fresh, so completely unscathed. He's not who I need him to be to offer me any real respite or comfort, but right now I'll greedily accept his sympathy all the same.

Just as Woody starts to offer to drop me home in the ambulance, my eye is caught by the flash of a car coming to a quick halt not too far from where I'm sitting. The headlights dazzle us for the brief moment before the engine is cut and the driver gets out. In the blink of an eye, I recognise the figure of my boss moving languidly towards us.

Gibbs approaches the trolley I'm sat on and motions to Woody indicating he wants a private word. The men have a short and hushed exchange, their heads bobbing in shallow nods of understanding. After what seems an eternity, the EMT turns and with a thin smile helps me to my feet. Gibbs is already getting into what I come to realise is my own car.

My body hurts from head to toe and I grit my teeth hard as I finally get into the passenger seat. Woody helps with my seatbelt then with a subtle nod of his head and the soft 'thunk' of the car door, he's gone.

Without any further-a-do, Gibbs starts the engine and backs out among the weaving emergency vehicles with care that he rarely exhibits behind the wheel.

The urge to apologise returns to me as the silence between us drags on. But I know that Gibbs doesn't want an apology. He sees it as an excuse, and Jethro Gibbs does not deal in excuses. _Never say you're sorry_' – a rule that isn't just about the weakness of showing regret; it's about the futility of seeking a forgiveness that can only be found in yourself. I know this and rationally understand it. But, my mind reminds me, I'm not like Gibbs, I'm simply not nearly as strong when it comes to things like this. And no matter how hard he pushes, or how many rules he makes me comprehend, there will always be that Catholic part of me that will ache ceaselessly until I find benediction.

I stare out into the sulphur glow of the street-lit night and without my permission, a solitary tear escapes my left eye and rolls down my cheek.

End


End file.
